Static Frequency
by Captain Crossover
Summary: Virgil Hawkins is a highly gifted student with a particular interest in physics and has an internship at S.T.A.R. Labs. On the night of the explosion, like most survivors, he found himself gifted with incredible powers. Geeky Virgil soon adopts the swashbuckling persona of Static. Will he and Flash get along?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Flash nor Static, it is a property of DC Comics. **

**A/N:** This just something I wrote on the fly. Please read and review.

**December 31, 2013**

**Paris Island, Central City**

An assault force silently emerged from the foggy night air. The empty streets of Central City open up to them. They walk past an abandoned gaming Arcade. The multi-story establishment had been dark and shuttered for decades, resembling Flynn's Arcade from TRON.

Dressed like commandoes, with the usual dark blue stuff – a cadre of battle fatigues, combat boots, weapons and equipment harnesses and vision goggles. The A.R.G.U.S. were their name. An research group formed by the government to perform clandestine mssions.

The Two leaders used hand signals motion to their team. They reacted as they'd been trained. In a smooth, fluid motion they creep forward like a shadowy herd, funneling in through the entrance from two directions.

They spread out and position themselves at different points, in a usual flanking pattern, securing the area. They take note of the various gang bangers posted around the place, keep watch.

He keyed his earbug in a vain attempt to make sense of his team's chatter jamming the radio, reporting "In position."

Another soldier takes position behind a stack of crates and draws his blaster held in a one-handed grip, activating his earbug, reporting, "In position."

"Copy that."

The team soon settles in for a spell of surveillance whilst concealing themselves from possible view of the gang members stationed in the area.

Forcing themselves to bide their time as they watch their prey.

They see two cadres of gang bangers appear from the darkness, wreathed in white smoke. Differing in bandana color.

The soldiers discerns that the exchange is about to go down. The leader keys his earbug reporting, "Hostiles are in play."

The two civilian gangs soon collide in a _clash of the titans_ type of violence. The fight had quickly devolved into hand-to-hand combat, an individual display of martial capability. All was seen were elbows and fists and legs.

At that moment, the assault force knew then that they lost the element of surprise. It was time to shift into overdrive and apply brute force.

Remaining in position behind crates, they launched a rain of tear gas cans onto the viscous scuffle, hoping to break it up.

Tear gas filled the docks..

The thugs were coughing desperately for air.

Just then, a wide column of energy tears into the sky with a violet force. The gang members stop fighting and turn their attention to the sky.

They all forgot that it was the night that the Particle Accelerator would turn on. Thunderclap and storms erupts throughout the sky. The sky darkens. Then a bright energy wave amplifies from out of the sky. It impacts the ground, causes of ripple of residual energy to flow over the surface. It becomes more consistent until the energy wave disappears.

Wails of pain can be heard from the gang bangers as they disperse in droves.

A lurking figure appeared form the smoke, coughing, a pair of chrome blue eyes met them.

The figure trotted forward revealing to be a teenage boy of mahogany complexion. His braids complimented his boyish good looks.

The teen boy froze in motion when he was met with a cadre of GI's with their weapons leveled at him.

"Hold it right there." barked the Team Leader.

Scarlet dots flared all over the teen's body.

He met the soldiers with a blank expression. "W-Well, I've gotta jet." He quipped. "Do you mind?"

"Freeze or we'll shoot." The soldiers cocked his weapon.

"No-!" hen urged. "Don't shoot-!" Without knowing it, the teen generated a spark which whirled sinuously around him. It amplified it to a white hot incandescence and sent it flashing all the way to the soldiers head-on.

Tossing the trained commandos aside like rag-dolls putting them to shame. Before their leader could tell them to stand down, it was already too late.


	2. Chapter 2

Doctor Harrison Wells opened the door to his apartment unit and rolled past the threshold into the darkness inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

His place was a total mess. Papers and books were piled everywhere.

When Wells switched on the light, he realized he wasn't alone. A figure stepped out from the shadows.

A woman to be exact.

Harrison almost bolted upright in alarm. Then he saw the woman's face. "Agent Waller." He said with relief. "Looks like you've made yourself at home."

Amanda Waller, Director of A.R.G.U.S.

A powerful political figure who has been involved with several espionage and law enforcement agencies. She made her career on the backs of adversaries who have underestimated her. Hence how she earned her nickname, "The Wall".

An African American woman in a tailored business suit. It was dark like her hair which was bound up in an elaborate bun. She carried herself with a commanding presence.

"Doctor," Amanda sat down, she took in Harrison's drawn face. He looked like he hadn't had a full night's sleep in days.

She was right. "How you been holding up?"

"Love the job.. hate the hours." He said gruffly.

Amanda gestured to the mess around them. "Clearly."

"Agent Waller, What can I do you for?" he asked, meaning "What the hell do you want?"

Sitting in a chair across the worktable from him. She takes her vodka neat of course and downs it in one go. She eyes him, nursing her glass and says, "I know about Barry Allen."

Harrison blinked at that. "What?" he asked. "What exactly do you know?"

"The what." She replied. "I saw him. And I saw what he can do, who he is. And now I see all kinds of things." She let that sink in before saying, "I see what you sacrificed for him, Doctor. For everyone, really."

"A.R.G.U.S." He said wryly. "Can't spell Intelligence without Intel."

"I get the job done, that's true." She said with a smile. "I've followed your extracurricular activities with interest for years, Doctor."

"For the best, I trust."

"The Senior Partners have expressed a concern for the Meta-Human situation." She said in a reasonable tone. "I'm working on a little something. A special project. If you're interested, I'd love to have you on my team. As a consultant, of course."

"What kind of project?"

She handed him a manila folder with the A.R.G.U.S. Logo embossed on the front. Beneath that was the words PROJECT BELLE REEVE stamped in red ink. The contents proved to be rap sheets of young men and women.

Glossy surveillance photos of supernatural occurrences.

All Meta-humans. Each was at the top of Interpol's Red Notice list.

A.R.G.U.S. Intelligence had ID'd them with codenames that suited their superhuman abilities: Hotstreak, Tarmack, Ebon. And the list goes on.

Soon it all clicked in his mind. "You want me to help you build a Meta-Human Prison."

She broadened her smile. "Checkmate. Wherever there is evidence of people with abilities, they will be rescued and held in this facility."

"You call kidnapping them and dragging them there rescue?"

Amanda arched an eyebrow. "I call it protective custody, Doctor." She said defensively. "Whose it intended to protect is open to interpretation."

"Why should I believe you?" his voice was even and leveled.

"Come on, Harrison. Think about it." She said. "Meta-Human factions are being formed as we speak. And it's foreshadowing a threat we will not take lightly.

"Tell yourself whatever you want. You and I both know that there's a war brewing, Doctor." She said. "And even the Flash can't be everywhere at once."

"And Barry won't be harmed?" asked Wells.

"Nor will he ever discover your involvement." She said. "You have my word."

Stifling a chuckle he said," Forgive me if I don't find that comforting."

"The time has come for you to do your patriotic duty. You know where to reach me." Before Harrison could say anything Amanda had already let herself out.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I am grateful for you guys taking the time out of your day to read my fan fiction and I appreciate the feed back. Please feel free to leave a nice comment if you can.

Ch.3: WORLD'S FINEST

A white van barreled down the crowded streets of Central City, sideswiping cars out of its wake. Ignoring traffic lights as it cut through an intersection at 5th Avenue and Vaughn.

"We're coming up on the gate."

"Go straight through."

Mal pressed down steadily on the accelerator and the van gained momentum as they neared the gate.

"Hold on." Mal advised, gripping the steering wheel.

It jumped the curb, smashed into the wrought iron gate and through it, sending the screaming pedestrians running to safety. One of them being Barry Allen.

With no time to spare, Barry's instincts took over. He kicked himself into a higher gear reducing the world around him to a slower tempo.

Everything that happened next had occurred over a period of about five seconds, and yet to Barry, it felt like five months.

Displaying an unnatural grace, Barry saved any stragglers away from the speeding carnage a way that would have made Neo proud.

The man behind the wheel and his criminal cohorts were desperately searching for an escape route. And they had good reason to since they were pursued by a cluster of howling sirens and dome lights of Central City's finest.

Blades of grass kicked up as they veered through a Park and met cement road once again.

Mal at the wheel, raised his knit wool balaclava, frowning into his rearview mirror. "Aw, what do ya' know." He said with the faintest hint of sarcasm. "It's the fuzz."

Riding shotgun was his buddy, Pete. Adjusting his side mirror, stealing a glance at their pursuers. He was nervous, but still managed to keep a straight face. "Yo', next time you have a plan, you wanna let us in on it?"

The third guy, Cowan, wiggled himself between the front seats. Sweat bathed his sloping brow and wide nose. "Yeah," He chastises. "Boss is not going be happy about-"

"Pipe down," Mal hissed from the driver's seat. Which is all he's been barking for the entire operation. He leaned forward on the steering wheel, scowling ahead. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. We got the payload and we're almost out of the hornet's nest."

It was safe to say, that the heist didn't go down as planned.

Apparently, the speeding patrol must have radioed for backup since more soon emerged from the side streets.

Mal at the wheel, his fingers gripping the leather, he gave it a sharp jerk.

The van fishtailed briefly as it cut a hard left, moving East on Prospect, avoiding the busy freeway. He leans hard on the accelerator, pushing the truck to a hundred. Central City whizzing past their windows in a blur.

"They're gaining on us, man."

He was right.

The speeding patrol cars caught up so close, that the rear doors of the van were bathed in red flashing light. The pursuing cruiser surged forward and rear ended the van with a calamitous force.

The van lurched and bobbed violently..

And then, without warning, the sound of rushing wind increased. A reddish streak flashed of lightning from beyond through the streets of Central City. The blur whizzed past the smashed police cruisers and catching up with the van.

Cowan turned back from the rear window.

With a pained look on his face. "Aw man, I-It's him. The Flash." he whelped. "We're going to be put away, for good."

Pete's smirk tightened a fraction. "Kid, speak for yourself."

Reaching into his blue duffle, he lifted a Heckler &amp; Koch MP5, his personal pride and joy. He grinned at the crisp metallic sounds of the rounds being chambered and a hammer being cocked, making a show to his cohorts that he meant business. "Just keep 'er steady."

"Hate to break it to ya'" said Cowan. "The guy's, like, faster than a speeding bullet, man."

"The Flash, yeah." Pete chortled and yanked his mask down. "But the Fuzz, ain't."

He leans out of the passenger side window, his sub-machine cradled in his palms. He centers it at the trailing black and whites, squeezes the trigger and the weapon in his hand exploded on full auto, bursting a whining hail of gunfire on the pursuing patrols. "Chow down on this!"

In the lead cruiser, the two uniforms ducked behind the dashboard as gun fire chewed up the hood, battering the windshield something fierce until it shattered under the tremendous force. "Ugh-Get down! Down!"

Losing control, the lead patrol spun wildly, and sideswiped another police cruiser. Both cars were soon rammed by a third cruiser, creating a domino effect. Soon the road was congested with ruin squad cars.

Soon a figure clad in scarlet emerged from the reddish blur and skidded to an immediate halt. Barry inspected officers conditioned. Some of the patrol officers climbed out. "Is everyone okay?"

One uniform thumbed the call button on his walkie-talkie handset clipped to his shoulder. While relaying to dispatch that rescue units are needed on site, the van roared away into the distance, barely drowning out the joyful howling of the crooks.

The gunman grinned, ear to ear, a bubbling chuckle rolled up out of his chest. "Central City's finest, heh?"

And then, his laughter abruptly stopped.

A mild sensation was felt as a silver glow traveled the length of his weapon, completely encasing it. His pride and joy popped out from his grasp as though it were a wet slippery bar of soap, leaving his fingers closing empty.

His eyes widened in dismay at his sadly empty hand, trying to mentally digest.

To his horror, a shadow rolled over him and the hairs on his body rose.

Twisted around, looking over his shoulder, he then let out a shriek.

At first, he had no idea what he was seeing:

A guy was flying.. no.. hovering before him. Kind of like Aladdin, but with a magic manhole instead of a magic carpet.

Perched on his glider, his dark blue hoodie billowing in the rushing wind. His eyes and fists flaring silver while keeping pace with the van effortlessly.

He gestured gingerly toward the MP5 floating next to him. "Mm-mm. Metal weapons and dumb thugs," His voice distorted. "It must be Monday in Central City."

Pete was speechless.

The flying figure swung laps around the van three times behind angling down towards the gun man.

Virg's too-billowy hoodie flared with silver sparks. With a flex of his forearm, jolts of electricity erupted from his palm, magnetizing the van's drive train.

Mal's eyes went wide. He slammed his foot on the brakes, and threw the wheel. A big mistake. An inferno of orange sparks rained as the van flip end-over-end off of the road.

Inside it, the three amigos found themselves cast out of their seats, bouncing off of the walls and ceiling.

It soon landed on its side and laying still save for its spinning wheels. Without warning, a flame grows on the underside of the vehicle. The metal surfaces of the vehicle glowed red hot. If it spreads the car could explode.

Soon the rear double doors were kicked open. Groaning in pain, the three criminals hobbled out the back. Bruised and scarred pretty good. 

* * *

Later on..

Deep in the bowels of S.T.A.R. Labs, Cisco, Caitlin, Barry, and Joe were on the edge of their chairs. Leaning over the center console. They speculated about the possibility of some kind of Hostile action.

Doctor Wells sat imperiously in his wheelchair near the center of the room. It is clear that he has certain demons driving him, but it wasn't quite clear to Detective Joe West what those demons were. At least not yet.

Dr. Wells adjusted his glasses and looked at Barry sideways. "You're suggesting a meta-human?"

"You bet." said Barry, who pulled back his mask to reveal a brown-haired youth underneath. "That Particle Accelerator is the gift that just keeps on givin'."

Warming to the subject, Joe said, "Tell me you got a good look at him, Bar."

"At a glance," He said with an exasperated sigh. "Trouble is, I couldn't ID the guy. I mean, he didn't exactly stick around to chat."

"We gotta go on something." he prompted him.

Barry slowly collected his thoughts, "Come to think of it," a frown crossed his face, trying to recall. "He wore a suit. A blue suit, like a uniform, or something." He then added, "And his hands - they glowed, like, uh-"

"Like electricity." Dr. Wells assured him. Everyone in the lab swiveled their heads and regarded him almost as if seeing him for the first time. He leaned forward in his chair. "My guess, a meta-gene for super electromagnetism."

"Sweeeeet," Cisco breathed in awe.

Caitlin rolled her eyes in annoyance. "How did you know?"

"Think it through." said Wells, rolling his chair toward her.

"The soot on the ground where the cement is burnt," said Caitlin mentally putting the puzzles pieces together. "Evidence of arc blasts. Happens when high aberrant currents travel through the air."

"Precisely."

"It's not much," said Barry. "But it's something."

Joe's eyebrows knit. "Okay. How does he fall into all of this?" he asked. "I mean, who is he?"

"I don't know, maybe… Maybe he's just like me." added Barry who turned with a mystified air towards the group. "Ya know, using his powers to do good."

The Doctor offered a wan smile. "Let us hope so, Mr. Allen."

"Either way, we better check him out." said Joe. "We need to find out who this Meta-human is. Find out where he lives, what school he goes to - something."


	4. Ghosts

Ch.4 "GHOSTS"

Virgil barreled down to a nearby alleyway, moving as fast as he could. Once vanished in the darkness, he yanked off his blue suit and pulled on his civilian attire. An instant later, a rail-thin boy in disheveled clothing hotfooted out of the alley, with a back pack slung over his shoulder. "I'm gonna get it this time."

Virgil Hawkins arrived late again at Mercury Labs. He was grateful earn his internship there, learning Structural Engineering. In the refurbished heart was state-of-the-art computing facilities.

Doctor Tina McGee made it clear that she keeps an eye out for promising talent in scientific fields. Virg has ton of potential, if it wasn't for his frequent tardiness, she would include him on better projects such as Project F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M.

The two lives he led no one would believe. In one life, he was fighting crime in garish clothing, the next he's geeky Virgil. He found the balancing act difficult. He's been lying for months, especially to the ones who mattered to him the most.

Virg had no idea why Doctor McGee was being so elusive about the special project, he guess that she had her reasons. "You have a problem with authority, Mr. Hawkins." She said from her neat and tidy desk. "Or am I wrong in thinking that?"

Her office contained an awesome collection of antique pistols and rifles mounted on the wall. Also decorated with souvenirs of her accomplishments.

Virg took a deep and reflexive breath at the consideration of his supervisor. "If you let me explain-"

She interrupted him. "You seem to believe that somehow the rules here don't apply to you."

"That's not -"

"Obviously you are mistaken." She interrupted him again. "It is my assumption that your father has had to pull strings in order to place you here, Mr. Hawkins. I mean, it doesn't take a genius."

Virg slumped his head, defeated. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Well, genius or not, If you can't find yourself here on time, then you'll find yourself out of an internship. Am I clear?"

Suppressing a sigh, he said "Yes ma'am."

"That'll be all."

* * *

Pete sat in the interrogation room under intense bright lights with nothing other than a grimy double-paned observation glass on the far wall. His hands cuffed. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and stale coffee.

The floor was dirty with tile and the table was scarred with carved epithets.

As soon as the two detectives walk in, he sits up right. For a moment they regarded each other silently.

Eddie closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

Joe slid into the chair at the right of him. Tucked in the crook of his elbow was a manila folder thick with notes. He laid it on the table and flipped it opened. Glancing at some papers inside.

Without looking up from his work, he said aloud: "Okay, bad news. Turns out, you're being charged with the attempted murder of three police officers."

Pete's face soured. "Attempted murder? H-Hold on a minute..! You serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"You will be held in a holding cell until transferred to Iron Heights located in Keystone. From there, you will await trial."

"You understand these charges?"

Pete bit his lip as his mind conjured up images of being bunkmates with Triad members like Cyrus Vanch or if possible, the crazy Helena Bertinelli. He stole a sidelong glance at Eddie, panic clearly registered in his eyes. "I want my attorney."

With a nonchalant shrug, he said, "Fine by me. You want fries with that?"

"Hey, I know my rights. I know my rights." He said, panic beginning to edge into his voice. "I want my attorney present or.. Or, I'm pleading the fifth.. commandment!"

"Amendment." Eddie rolled his eyes. "The Fifth Amendment."

He threw up his hands. "Yeah, whatever. Fifth Amendment."

"We'll get the story soon enough if you're holding out on us."

"Your buddies Pete and Mal are currently shackled to the desk in the interview room down the hall. Their testimony will be more than enough to convict you."

"Is that what you think?"

"You know what I think?" Joe retorted. "Up until a year ago, you were on the registry. Check Fraud. Possession. Racketeering-"

"No to mention Assault and Battery." Eddie let out a whistle. "A Full house."

"Then I'll play the cards as they're dealt." He says, with a shrug posing nonchalance.

"The court of public opinion is a harsh one, I hear." Eddie leaned in on Pete. "But I'll wager that you already knew that."

Joe could almost see the gears turning in Pete's head. They both sensed it. He was going to crack. "Take my advice, strike a deal."

After mulling that over for a few seconds, something in his Neanderthal intelligence clicked. "Alright, I give." He said at last. "Maybe we can work out some sort of uh deal, right?" He asked, "I mean, why waste the good tax payer's money?"

"You spill the beans in exchange for a lighter sentence." Joe didn't phrase it as a question, but Pete answered it anyway. "Only if you'll guarantee my safety right?"

Eddie nodded once, tersely.

Ever casual, Joe said, "Start talking."

"There's a new player higher up on the food chain. And he's not your garden-variety sum bag neither. I know his rep, okay? People say… People say, he doesn't play around."

"We talking deep pockets and powerful connections?" asked Joe.

"Yeah, something like that."

"So what about him?"

"He ran with a crew, way back when."

"A crew, who?"

"Don't know. Some kind of syndicate. We just met the one time."

Joe's mouth tightened. "What was the nature of this meeting?"

"He'd start passing word: A major throw down at the Paris Island Docks that night. All of the major crews were invited."

Joe quirked an eyebrow. "And what time was this?"

"'Bout a quarter to midnight."

"So according to you, he was the tail wagging the dog."

Pete nods

"And you followed?"

"Syndicate is like blood, ya know. So I backed his play. I figured we shake things up a bit." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "'Sides, he knows things."

"Things, like?"

"Like, I've got family too. Don't want them in his crosshairs."

"My heart bleeds." said Joe. "You get eyes on this guy?"

"I didn't get a look at his face, no. I was too busy trying to get the payload into the van. From what I remembered, he was uh… black. Not like you per se, but like really, really black."

Joe snorted, "What like obsidian?"

"Pure shadow, way I hear it. I'm sayin' he was one of 'em. Bang babies, ya know... Freaks. Like the Flash."

A smirk togged at Eddie's lips. "You're a funny guy, you know that?"

"On my best day I couldn't make this stuff up. One minute he was there, clear as day. The next, Poof. Dude was gone."

Joe masked his curiosity behind his poker-face. "Let's say I believe you. Which I don't. Suppose this uh, ghost story, he got a name?"

Pete looked unblinkingly into his eyes. "Yeah. Ebon."

* * *

Iris slowly came to, the pain in her head a pounding drum, throbbing with each beat of her heart. There was a sour smell to the air, the scorched residue of burnt rubber, and a metallic taste in her mouth, she knew was blood.

The area around her was unrecognizable. None of which solves the big mystery. Pressing the heel of her hand to her battered forehead, she yowled. "What happened?"

Slowly, but surly, the memories came back, like a bad dream drifting in over pain: the shadow man.

And then, without change in light to prompt it, a pool of dark shadow grew in size on the wall behind her. The swarming shadow had swelled in size until a shadowy humanoid curled forth. "Used to be low-income housing. Now it's a nest. Boarded up windows, no electricity, sewer access."

"Huh?" Her eyes widened. "D-Do you know w-who my father is?"

"I was catching up on your blog." He continued. "And this story caught my eye about a speedster."

"T-The Flash?" She crawls backwards into a wall.

"Yeah, The Flash." He said menacingly. "You wouldn't happen to know how I could find him, would ya?"


	5. Behind The Cowl

"BEHIND THE COWL"

**Starling City..**

Deep in the bowels of the Arrowcave, was what appeared to be a state-of-the-art facility. A command center for a war against crime.

Display racks of crossbows and quivers stretched along the far walls. Mounted above, an inventory of brightly polished titanium arrows. At the far end, hung on display in a glass case was a uniform of Starling's City's emerald archer, the Arrow.

A symbol for taking the law into one's own hands, Team Arrow had done great good in protecting the streets of Starling City. But lately, with the absence of Oliver, they've watched as this city begins its slow crumble into chaos.

Though Felicity often wished it were otherwise, Oliver's crusade remains paramount: To use their arrows to bring down those who are poisoning his city, cleansing the streets of corruption. It had gone on far longer than anyone could have predicted.

The victims involved - the concerned citizens – they demanded justice.

And Team Arrow will not fail this city.

Felicity sat at the humming heart of the stronghold, bathed in the warm glow of LCD screens.

Her hands a blur on the touch screens as she enabled a tracer hack providing a constant stream of security-camera videos juxtaposed with electronic dossiers of known criminals. "Heh. Here's something that might interest you."

Both Roy and Diggle drew alongside her.

"Alva Industries, a small research and development company specializing in experimental technology. Recently became a subsidiary of Queen Consolidated."

"Alva.. Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Edwin Alva," said Felicity. "Founder and CEO. a military contractor that for the US government."

"I did some digging in Alva's backyard and came up with more flowers than dirt?" said Diggle.

"There's got to be something."

"Well, I found this." A hologram sprung to life in the middle of the room.

The three regarded the light blue data projections which appeared to float in front of them. Studying the main readout, their collective eyes studied it with intensive care. It was the blue prints of a technological device in the shape of a back pack.

"Well, what is it?" asked Roy.

"Alava's been developing a super-powered computer codenamed: _Back-Pack_." said Felicity.

"Back-Pack?" scoffs Roy. "Seriously, who names these things?"

"Most likely this Back-Pack is being developed for future military applications, I would presume." said Diggle.

"You'd be right, but it was reported stolen from Alva industries days ago."

"SCPD had compiled a list of all possible Holdings within a hundred miles radius." Felicity took a deep breath, then removed her glasses and rubbed the corners of her eyes. "This _Back-Pack_ can be held in any one of those facilities."

"Any luck in narrowing it down?" asked Roy.

"Not yet. I mean, not until I can gain direct access to the mainframe."

Roy furrowed his brow. "Mainframe?"

"While on reconnaissance," said Diggle. "I spied a Pre-paid burner, a disposable cell, near the trash. Figure we'd get lucky and come up with a few bread crumbs; I had Felicity run a check on the last number dialed."

"And I've got a match." said Felicity. The screen switched from a multicolored map of the territory to a satellite image, zooming in on a warehouse called _McDuffy's_. "The smart money says, that whatever information we looking for, we'll find it there."

Roy Harper was always known for having a lot more courage than brains. His ex, Thea Oliver, can attest to that. But like Felicity and Diggle, Roy made a promise and he will not fail this city. "I'll boom down there and check it out myself." he said.

* * *

**Warehouse, Starling City..**

Stone-faced guards in business suits who stood at intervals along the walls.

"Hey, Robert. You said there were eight crates in the delivery, but I only see seven."

"What do you mean, 'seven'?"

"As in one less than eight."

"Well the bill of lading said there were eight."

"Did you count?"

"Uh, well, not exactly."

"Not exactly? It's just not too hard to count eight giant crates."

The lights are extinguished; the shadows lengthen into inky darkness. The thugs, now on alert, halt their movement, their heads swiveled around. "Hey, who killed the lights?"

"Don't know… I mean, maybe, it was a ninja."

"Ninjas? In Starling City? No such thing as ninj-!"

A mysterious figure burst inward through the window, sending showers of glass raining on everyone.

His snug-fit uniform protected him from the shards as he hit the ground, shouldered-roll forward into the shadows.

"Now what the hell was that?"

"Lock down the facility!"

"Spread Out! When he's in range, you know what to do!"

As the guards squinted into the shadows at the far end of the warehouse, Robert dropped to his hands and knees, tugged free his handgun from his belt and crawled his way toward the door.

"I'm telling you, *that* was a ninja!"

"Pipe down, you wuss."

"Keep your eyes peeled-!"

"And try looking over your shoulder." The mysterious figure came up fast on them with reckless abandon.

His muscular build sheathed in crimson uniform of a Polymer Kevlar weave. His mask and hood concealed his face in shadow, revealing only his eyes and mouth.

He catapulted head-on into the front guy, his shoulder ramming into his stomach, sending him reeling back into the others like how a bowling ball meets ten pins. Their weapons clattered across the floor. "Agh! I knew it! I knew there were ninjas around here!"

The thugs clambered to their feet together and tried to jump him.

While Bobbing and weaving between sharp jabs and uncoordinated grabs, Roy chose his blows with care so that he connected with soft tissue instead of bone. He kept to the shadows, using his element.

Until a solid jab caught him by surprise, his jaw flared with an exploding sensation of pain. Roy grimaced, but didn't falter. Still had the presence of mind to let his anger dull out the pain.

Fueled on adrenaline, he pivots, lashing his left foot up, delivering a viscous kick. It caught his larger opponent across the chin, dazing him.

The smaller opponent came up fast with a switchblade, but Roy's slammed his fingers into a nerve cluster in his opponent's back, stunning him. He parried the wrist, squeezed the correct pressure point, forcing him to drop the blade. "Aaah! My wrist! Augh! Aah! Alright! Alright!"

He dove into him with a sharp left hook, dropping him into the ground in seconds.

Roy activates his earpiece, sending a highly encrypted signal back to the Arrow Cave. "I've breach the area."

Felicity's voice spoke into his earpiece. _"Heads up. Slugger at five."_

Roy chanced a glance over his shoulder, confused.

"_Ugh, your *other* five."_

Roy whipped around, dived to one side, just in time to avoid a wooden bat when it gouged a shallow trench in the wall inches from his face. The attacker's eyes glinted as if for the first time he sensed victory. "Gonna mess you up good! Goddamn ninja!"

Beneath his dark red mask, Roy's eyes danced back, accepting the challenge. "Since you put it that way-"

"Hmph!" Slugger lunged at him again, poised to strike. Roy ducked another clumsy swing when he spun into a crouch and clipped the guy's legs out from under him. His bat clattered across the ground.

Then Roy dropped to one knee, and dazed him with a solid right cross. "You need a new hobby."

Opened his Kit and slipped on his rubber gloves and started his walk-around, searching the ground near the doors and windows as well as the equipment. Collecting and analyzing evidence that might have been easily overlooked.

He spied scuff marks on the floor. They lead to dusty bookcase. It seems that the bookcase had been moved - a lot. Arsenal pushed the it out of the way. Revealing a secret door and wall panel positioned at his eye level next to it.

A security measure to keep out those who wouldn't have access.

Looking around, he found an incapacitated thug, grabbed him by the shirt collar, hauled his unconscious form to his feet; then shoved the goon's hand against the panel.

The screen lit up, registering his presence and scanning his palm.

A soft ping later, the security protocol recognized him and the steel door clicked loudly, then opened, revealing a hidden room inside.

Arsenal released the goon tumbling onto the floor when he quickly enters the room.

A low hum fills his ears. He peered inside. Other than the mainframe occupying the center of the room, it was empty.

"Support, I've found the mainframe."

_"Cool beans. You got thirty seconds."_ said Felicity.

Roy walked over to the broad wave console, removed a flash drive from a pouch in his leg. Once he plugged it, he tapped the keyboard; and enables a decryption suite allowing him to pole-vault over the firewalls. Providing him route access to the mainframe.

The screen on top of the console lit up with hundreds of cipher codes crawling across monitor.

He looked up at the countdown, as the last digit clicked from one to zero. A soft ping indicated it was done. One hand pressing against his earpiece he communicates "All I got a name: Virgil Ovid Hawkins. An intern at Mercury Labs. Central City."

"_How much you want to bet that he has this Back-Pack?"_

"Let's check him out."

NEXT CHAPTER: "GEAR"

* * *

**Author's note:** If you have the time, please check out my **Young Justice** fanfic: _ICON Reborn_. I will be updating that fanfic as well as this one pretty soon. Please Read and Review.

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own any of these characters.


	6. GEAR

"**GEAR"**

**Central City…**

Sure enough, a building was burning, fast and furious. Fire raged up the sides of anything vertical, and began to chew its way across the streets. The waves of the heat was damn near suffocating. Flames arced upward to paint the night sky.

Before Richie Foley could draw another breath, a whoosh of air and a crack of lightning heralded the arrival of the scarlet blur. He felt a jolt as a powerful arm reached out, grabbing him by the wrist with a hand as strong as steel, sparing him a painful landing.

Seconds later..

Richie jarred awake, his mind spun. He blinked his eyes trying to clear the darkness from them.

Papers whipped to the sky and fluttered all around him. He craned his head around to chance a glance at his rescuer with confused wet brown eyes.

A golden lightning bolt emblazoned across the chest of a skin tight scarlet uniform. A slender figure, muscular but at the same time, extremely well proportioned. His face lay hidden behind a scarlet cowl, marked with a pair of streamlined golden wings of a Roman god.

The spectators on the bridge had spotted him. He heard shouts of "Hey! Up there! Look! It's him! It's the Flash!"

Despite the flames licking the area around him, The Flash stood tall, arms akimbo, "You okay?"

A gleam came to Richie's eyes. He let out a yelp, trying to compose himself. The words finally came tumbling out. "Th-The Flash?" he said breathlessly. "No way, man! Y-You saved me. Dude, I owe you my life!"

"Fine, then make it count for something."

The Flash tried to ignore the sudden silence that his presence inspired. The turning heads and nervous whispers. Inwardly, he was embarrassed by the attention. He gently smiled, maybe a little self-consciously.

Dropped to a runner's stance, the Flash took off at lightning speed, indulging himself by making a few loops as he went headlong towards the East River. Putting on an extra burst, his superhuman pace carried him across the surface of the water.

Awestricken, Richie watched the scarlet blur disappeared into the city's skyline. The breeze generated by his departure whipped through his wreathe of blonde hair. His glasses askew, with lenses cracked. And for a second, all was deathly still, save for the whistle of howling wind. "Godspeed."

**National City...**

Dawn was just beginning to break over National City. Humidity clung to the air like a cloak, but a fresh breeze was blowing off of the lake. It had rained late into the night and the streets were slick and glistening.

Breaking away from the doorway, Kara Danvers went headlong towards the elevator bank, papers strewn behind her. Certain no one was watching, she slipped into the dark stairwell and made her way up three steps at a time. Moments later, the slender blonde emerged on a metal catwalk within the hollow globe atop the CatCo Worldwide Media Building.

There, she removed her glasses, and doffed her street clothes in the wink of an eye and stood sharply attired in a bright red skirt with matching cape and boots - Layered over a royal blue leotard that clung to her shapely figure. Lustrous blonde hair tumbled past her shoulders and framed her silvery eyes. A bright red "S" emblazoned upon her chest.

The guise of Kara Danvers had disappeared, revealing the radiant persona of Supergirl. A long red cape hung from her shoulders as she looked out past the edge and upon the city she had sworn to protect.

The urban air was too dirty and hazy for her to see many stars, but the full moon beamed down at her from behind a bank of clouds.

Despite the beauty before her, her thoughts grew heavy with every passing moment.

Rumors of her abilities have spread like wildfire throughout the streets of National and filled the hearts of people with worry. Saddling her with labels like _Alien_, _meta-human _or possibly a _savior_. A true state of affairs that have become all too real for Kara Zor-El: No matter how much she thought she'd fit in, she was not one of them.

As her gaze beheld the cityscape, germs of doubt began to fester within her spirit, clouding her judgement and resolve, _Why should I help them? _She thought to herself_._

"_On Earth," _a voice spoke in hushed reverence_. "you will do extraordinary things.. Kara." _

From the darkest depths of her mind echoed her mother's dying words, allowing a flicker of hope. And in the glow of her mind's eye shimmered the high walls and gleaming turrets of Krypton. A shining jewel in a vast, dark universe. And what it stood for.

Her eyes turned skyward, dark with worry, and for a moment, hoping against hope that she would see it again.

Striding forward, she leapt into the air… and kept going, higher than any bird or plane.

Up, up and away she dove skyward like an avenging angel, climbing several stories above her adopted world, punching through clouds, winging her way pass the glare of the moon.

Narrowing her eyes as the silvery moonlight revealed her smiling face, shining with love. Not as some strange visitor from another planet, but as Supergirl, the Last Daughter of Krypton.

Swooping earthward, red cape streamed behind her like the tail of a comet. Fierce winds and turbulence buffeted across her face as she plunged deeper into the heart of National City. Evoking cries of wonder from below.

The city swept by beneath her in a blur as she winged westward over plains and cities and rivers, and out over the vast Atlantic.. Soaring to her hearts content.

**Paris Island..**

At the Convenience Store front entrance, overlooking Clark Street, a shadowy figure rounded the corner, glistening in the light of the street lamps. Her boots struck the street decisively in long strides as she drew a high-powered crossbow.

The bolts glowed a luminous shade of purple as the dark-haired woman took aim down the block at the fleeing fugitives who were pounding the pavement, wisely making themselves scarce.

Avid silvery eyes gazed out from behind a thin dark cowl. A lithe figure, a black Utility Belt hung low on her hips, wrapped tightly around a sleek body suit designed for stealth, her midnight coat spread out behind her, flapping in the wind like wings of a bird.

She clicked the trigger, sending bolts hissing through the air, gleaming with deadly accuracy. Their intended target eliciting a shriek of pain.

Falling faced down in the gutter, he howled in pain and grabbed for the bolt. Warm blood spurting from the wound. The guy lifted his head on the verge of passing out. His blurry eyes widened when a fearsome shadow fell upon him. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

"How rude of me." She said. "Where are my manners?"

He knew whose face was laying beneath the cowl of that dark brooding figure towering over him.. Helena Bertenelli. Or as she was known in some circles, Oliver Queen's psycho ex-girlfriend.

She was a gangland myth, an heiress of a criminal empire turned vigilante. Hell bent on righting the wrongs of her father and thwarting those who've corrupted her city, hence her codename, the Huntress.

In the wake of reports from the S.C.P.D., she was serving consecutive life sentences at Iron Heights Prison. Word is, she cut a deal with someone.

The Huntress looked at the downed hoodlum, smiling behind her mask as he gasped in pain. She was on him in an instant. The cloak falling back over her shoulders, she grabbed him by the throat and lifted him high into the air.

"Francis Stone." She greeted him. "Let's have a little Q and A, shall we?"

Francis appeared to be no more than twenty-three. He lived within his sagging jeans and skin like that of the gang who followed him – was painted with art and accented with piercings that would make any gangbanger worthy of the name appear modest by comparison.

"Lemme go," He said. "You ain't a cop."

Her cold brown eyes dared him to defy her. "No. I'm worse."

"Never mind how you found me," He said, a note of fear crept into his voice. "W-What'd you want?"

"Kinda obvious, don't ya think," Her gaze hardened. "With my father dead, there's a vacuum to be filled, no way 'round that. This Ebon is salivating to claim his throne. There's been rumors about this guy, flying around Paris Island for weeks. I couldn't get a confirmed eye witness until now. Word is, you know Ebon and where he lays his head."

Francis shook his head. "Syndicate is like blood, bitch. The snitches get stitches." he told her. "That's how it works 'round these parts."

"That's too bad," Helena said in bemusement. "cause that arrow I just shot you with, totally laced with Fear Toxin. Kinda like Truth Serum, messes with your neurons and all that."

Fire shot through Francis' leg as Huntress gripped his bloody arrow, twisting it. The pain was sharp and growing. A scarlet trail streamed down his pants. "ARRGGHH! Dammit! Please—stop!"

"Guess you're getting fitted for stitches."

"Okay. Okay." Francis said. His heart raced, his chest pounded, his skin was covered by a thick sheen of sweat. "R-Rumor has it he's been working with some friends, p-planning something special just for you. The gist? Ebon wants to kill ya. And if it's any consolation, baby doll, so do I."

She gripped his throat even tighter, cutting off his wind a little. "Losing. My. Patience."

"I-I overheard him with some egghead from Alva Industries, something about uh -" He paused after a while, at least one penny dropped in memory. "M-Mirakuru?"

Helena's eyes widened in fear. "The super-soldier serum." Huntress recalled. "What about it?"

"They found some that survived the particle explosion, the Big Bang, a year back. It's different now. Stronger. Like some kinda uh, radioactive cocktail."

"Like a bomb?"

"Think Bang Baby Gatorade, honey. Calling it Quantum Juice. They've been stockpiling it for weeks."

Francis could see her face contort as she put the puzzle pieces together. "Ebon's planning another Big Bang. Worse than the Particle Accelerator Explosion."

Francis smirked. "That's just the beginning. If they hit the whole city with Q-Juice, there's nothing to stop Central City, Starling City – whatever City - from tearing itself apart through mass panic."

"That means you get to stay top dog. Where's he keeping this Quantum Juice? Tell me - now."

His mouth stretched ever so slightly into a wry smirk. "Believe me, I know the drill. Truth and justice and all that. Pfft. You talk real tough for a bitch in a cape."

Helena's ear comm blared to life with the voice of Amanda Waller. "Huntress." The woman spoke, her voice cold and flat. "Evac and fall back to the extraction point. Mockingbird out."

Helena propped up her chin and gazed at him doe-eyed. "Copy that, Mockingbird," she said, but bringing her loaded crossbow to bear. "Last chance, Francis."

"Done told ya, nobody... And I mean, nobody calls me Francis anymore." He said, as the light in his eyes flickered to fire. "Not since Dakota High." A fierce rage outlined him, in a passion that almost surprised her.

Looking down, she saw fire kindled from his open palm and rushed out in a furious torrent. "Name's Hotstreak." He let loose a sphere of fire the size of a bowling ball, arcing it through the air.

It detonated like a bomb, flames punching out of every door and window along the corner of the structure, casting forth a shockwave of blistering heat that knocked those nearest flat to the street.

The man-shaped figure stepped forward, a bright fire raged his entire body. He raised his arms and the flames curled in on themselves, shifting from red to orange to white. The scarlet flames rocketed outward with a roar. "Nobody messes with Hotstreak!"

"Shut up, Francis!" voiced a techno-knight standing in thin air.

G.E.A.R. let his thrusters carry him in close to them before bringing his forearm weapons to play. Redirecting his suit's power, right arm outstretched now, and palm downward, he raised the tube's targeting mechanism, centered at Hotstreak in the reticle and, his hand began to glow and fired off repulsor blasts.

Streaking toward him with deadly silence, narrowly missed Huntress and caught Hotsreak square in the belly. Sending him careening backwards through the air and landing in a s His flames extinguished. sickening thud.

G.E.A.R took to the ground and made his way over to Huntress. Arcs of plasma surged through armored joints and metal plating. He raised his metal visor so he could talk to her face-to-face. "All in a day's work. No need to thank me."

Huntress quirked an eyebrow. "I wasn't going to."

**Central City Precinct..**

Detective Joe West had little hope in tracking down this "Ebon". He ambled down the narrow hall until he came to a room at the far end with the stenciled word on the door: Interrogation.

Stepping over the threshold, Joe rapped on the door for a perfunctory knock when he was met with the metallic tang of fleshly spilled blood. Wrinkling his nose, he whipped his head up and found himself overwhelmed by a novel form of terror, so unlike the fear that he was accustomed to.

His manila folder dropped to the floor, photos and papers spilling out. His feet seemingly rooted to the ground. His breath froze in his chest as he found himself staring at a dead body.

It was Pete.

The room suddenly smelled of him. The sour-sweet smell of death.

Leaned over limp; arms out spread across the table in a bloody heap. His wide eyes were two olive orbs, reflecting primordial fear. Fresh cuts scarred his exposed face and skin. His lips were parted. His shirt and pants have been torn to bloody ribbons along his forearms in defensive wounds. A pool of his own blood darkening the table beneath his mop of sandy hair.

A simple message glinting wetly against the wall behind him. The words "**I WANT THE FLASH..**" oozing in fleshly smeared blood, no doubt from Pete. The significance of the message was not lost on Joe.

Joe turned away from the corpse and opened his eyes, staring down at the floor.

Swallowing bile, he grabbed at his shoulder holster, fumbling to yank out his revolver into a two-handed grip. His eyes darting about, taking in as much of his surroundings as possible.

But behind him, a shadow gently rescinded back into the tile flooring. Leaving no evidence of having been there.

Joe just wanted to get out of there.

At that, Joe broke into a sprint, as fast as he could move, back down the hall towards the others.

NEXT CHAPTER: DAWN OF INJUSTICE


End file.
